Bucky Barnes
There’s a lot Peter loves about New York City.
The lights, the sounds, the people, the buildings. There’s so much to appreciate. When he sits on his perch at the very tippy top of buildings, he can take off his mask because no one can see him. The wind hits his face, content settling in his bones and calming his mind.
What Peter has come to lack appreciation for, is the weather.
It’s a week into December, so New York is getting pretty damn cold. And worse, it’s been raining for the past three days.
During the summer, the rain isn’t a problem. Sure, he hates the feeling of his clothes sticking wetly to his skin and that it takes forever to dry, but at least he’s not freezing.
But now, not only is the rain itself cold as hell, the icy feeling lingers until Peter can manage to duck into a warm store to half loiter half buy a small stick of gum.
But he doesn’t have any money right now, so there’s no excuse he can use to go into a store to snatch any heat. Any alcoves within the next few blocks are already taken by a few pedestrians who are waiting for the rain to abate or the other homeless people around the city.
So there’s nothing Peter can do right now other than sit against a wall, cuddling Clint’s jacket to himself, letting the rainwater fall onto him. The blanket that he woke up with one morning- much to his pleasant surprise- is stuffed into his backpack that’s hiding underneath some of his webbing in a back alley.
People walk by with umbrellas under their heads, giving him pitying looks as they pass, but not doing anything to help him.
A spike of anger fills Peter’s veins. What did he do to deserve this? Why does everybody else get to be dry and warm? Who did he piss off to deserve this fate?
His fingers clench in his hands that are pocketed in his jacket. The anger pops up every so often, when the unfairness of it all catches up with him. He knows that everything that’s happened to him is a result of his own doing.
Uncle Ben died because he didn’t do enough with his powers. Aunt May kicked him out because he chose to continue being Spider-man. He’s sitting here in the rain because he wasn’t fast enough to get under an alcove before somebody else.
The anger leaves as soon as it comes. It drains out of him as quick as the rainwater rushing down the streets. He’s left with an overwhelming feeling of sorrow. An aching, gnawing feeling of despair settles deep in his stomach.
It crawls up his chest and builds a lump in the throat. He feels his eyes sting with tears, the pressure against his temple.
This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. He’s supposed to have parents who are alive, who take care of him. He’s supposed to have an Uncle who doesn’t get shot and supports his scientific dreams.
He’s supposed to have an aunt who loves him.
He’s supposed to live in a home, warm and safe, with a family who cares about him.
But he’s here, outside in the freezing rain. With nothing and no one.
The tears spill over his cheeks, mixing with the rain that falls across his skin and hair, soaking his clothes. His arms come over his sides, crossing over each other and squeezing. His body is so numb, so cold, if he closes his eyes he can almost pretend it’s someone hugging him.
His shoulders shake as he lets out silent cries, he pulls his legs to his chest, burying his face in his knees.
Peter sits there for who knows how long. Time passes in a haze, the anguish in his chest pressing hard against his heart.
He doesn’t notice that he’d fallen into a light doze until the rainfall on his body abruptly stops. His head snaps up and he looks forward where the rain is still falling in front of him.
He looks up to see a black umbrella above his head. Holding it is a man dressed in all black with shoulder length brown hair. He’s got a serious looking face, but his eyes betray his worry.
Peter sniffs, looking up at the man confusedly.
He only keeps the umbrella over Peter, shifting to sit next to him. Peter looks over at him with wide eyes, furrowing his brow in question.
“Peter.” The man speaks. It’s not a question.
In Peter’s experience, anyone who knows his name without ever meeting him before is an Avenger. He looks over the man again. His eyes catch on a metal hand holding up the handle of the umbrella.
Bucky Barnes.
The Winter Soldier, the White Wolf is holding up an umbrella for Peter in the middle of a rainstorm. On purpose.
“Mr. Winter Soldier Barnes sir.” Peter says quietly.
The ends of the man’s lips curl very slightly in amusement.
“Bucky, kid.” Mr. Barnes says.
Peter nods, “Mr. Bucky,” He whispers, turning back to looking out at the street. His head bonks against the cold wall behind him.
He can feel Mr. Barnes’ eyes on him as he focuses on the city in front of him. He probably looks a mess with sopping wet hair, dark eye bags, prominent cheekbones, and puffy, red eyes.
“You remind me of Steve.” Bucky says softly.
Peter hums, not having enough energy to get out any words.
“Tiny, righteous, no self-preservation.” Bucky continues.
Peter smiles. It does sound a bit like him. He’s not sure how he feels about being compared to Captain America, but the compliment warms him nonetheless.
“Captain America isn’t a homeless kid sitting in the rain.” Peter mutters.
Bucky lets out a soft laugh, “Maybe not, but he did get into fights with people twice his size and refuse medical attention.”
Peter rolls his eyes, “I didn’t choose to get into a fight with those guys.”
“You’ve got Stevie’s sass, too.” Bucky says.
Peter shifts slightly, getting a little closer to the larger man. “I’m nothing like Captain America.”
Bucky shrugs, “I think you’re more like him than you think.”
He doesn’t deign that comment with a response. Peter wipes his face of the rain and tears, sniffing faintly. He tucks his hands in between his thighs, trying to preserve heat.
“You out in the rain for fun?” Bucky asks.
Peter snorts, “Yeah, I’m actually conducting an experiment to see just how close to hypothermic I can get before there’s no return.”
Bucky huffs in amusement, but he shuffles closer to Peter. He leeches the man’s warmth, curling slightly into him.
“I couldn’t find any shelter that wasn’t already taken.” Peter murmurs.
Bucky nods, but he doesn’t say anything. The rain patters lightly against the street, a constant beat that makes Peter sleepy. He yawns, jaw cracking, and closes his eyes.
Before he realizes it, his head falls onto something soft- Bucky’s shoulder, his mind fills for him. He feels Bucky freeze under the touch for a moment, before relaxing and sitting back against the wall.
He’s certainly not warm, but the company is enough to pull Peter into a peaceful doze.
—--------------------
When Bucky saw a small child sitting against the wall, completely subject to the rain, his first instinct was to keep walking.
Steve had begged him to go out to grab them sandwiches from a place they both love, and if Bucky can ever resist the man’s doe eyes, check to see if he’s been replaced by a pod person.
The kid against the wall looked incredibly despondent, tears running down his skeletal looking face.
Now, Bucky is good with kids. He’s the oldest of four, of course he’s good with kids. But he hasn’t interacted with one- while being of sound mind, at least- in over eighty years.
But the boy was so small and completely exposed to the elements. He felt empathy pull at his heart and walked to cover the kid in his umbrella.
When the kid looked up at him, Bucky almost fell over. His eyes were huge and brown, his pale lips pulling into a confused pout. Memories of a little girl- Becca- fill his mind and he realizes he’s in this deep.
Something else sends alarm bells ringing in his brain. This is the kid from the video of the battle. The same kid who ran into Tony, who Steve patched up and who Sam took out to lunch.
Peter Parker.
So he sat with the kid. He pulled little pieces of information out of him, a stilted conversation from both sides. The kid looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes prominent on his skinny face.
When Peter rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder, he immediately tensed up. He hasn’t done well with touch since being released from HYDRA, but he thinks he’s getting better.
He sat there with Peter, letting the kid sleep, until the rain abated. He left both sandwiches tucked under Peter’s jacket for him when he woke up.
When he gets back to the tower, he enters his room, where Steve is laying on his bed reading a book.
“Hey, Buck.” Steve looks up, smiling.
“I met Peter.” Bucky says shortly, taking off his shoes.
Steve raises his eyebrows, “Yeah? How’d that go?”
“He was sitting in the rain ‘cause there was no shelter he could find. He was crying.” Bucky responds.
He sees Steve’s brows furrow, his shoulders dropping.
“What’d you do?” The man asks.
“Sat with him ‘till the rain stopped. Gave him our sandwiches, sorry.” Bucky says. He crawls into the bed, cuddling underneath the warm blankets.
Being warm is a privilege, he would know.
“It’s fine, Buck,” Steve laughs, “Lord knows the kid needs it more than us.”
Bucky nods, leaning in closer, laying his head on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes scan the book Steve is reading, trying to remember what happened before he left.
“Can we do anything for him?” Bucky murmurs, burying his face in Steve’s shirt.
Steve pauses, knocking his head onto Bucky’s. “I don’t know. We’d have to talk to Tony.” He says.
Bucky nods, flipping the page of Steve’s book, scanning the words on the page.
“We’ll figure it out, Buck.” Steve reassures.
The kid doesn’t deserve to be outside in the rain like that. Bucky’s been protecting self-sacrificing idiots since he was eight years old.
Hydra could never take that from him.